


Étude

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Category: RWBY
Genre: Business talks at the dinner table, Capitalism, Character Development, Gen, Jacques Schnee's A+ Parenting, Negative character development, Pre-Canon, Pre-White trailer, Sorry Flynt, White trailer, Winter does not appear but flavors this story nonetheless, schneeblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: Weiss refuses to spend her life locked away in her bedroom the way her father wants. No, she will be a huntress, like her grandfather before her. She has a plan.Too bad her father always gets his way, even when she wins.
Relationships: Jacques Schnee & Weiss Schnee, Jacques Schnee & Whitley Schnee, Weiss Schnee & Schnee family
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Étude

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially written as part of a oneshot collection centered around headcanons about the arts at Remnant's combat schools, but I never got around to writing anything else in the series. Here, the basic idea is that Beacon has a world-renowned choral program, with music being a mandatory elective and the lauded Beacon Chorus serving as a gilded propaganda piece.

The Schnee dining room table, like all things Schnee, is perfect. Its gleaming ebony, imported from Sanus, is unmarred. (The knick Winter left in the leg was gone the next day.) The white tablecloth draped evenly across it shows neither crease nor stain. (Any spill sees the cloth burnt and the maid fired.) If a family were defined by how many times they have dinner together, the dining room table would be the only Schnee with perfect attendance. (It helps that the table has no need to eat, and thus is never sent to its room without dinner.) Like any Schnee, like _every_ Schnee, the table is _perfect._

Perfect and empty. The space where Winter’s chair used to be is louder than the polite clatter of silverware against china. Weiss is careful not to look at it too long, but she needs the reminder. Winter got out. She can, too.

She has a plan.

Father sets his silverware down, turning off his scroll for the first time this evening. Weiss meets his eyes evenly, back straight. “And what have the two of you been up to today?” 

The question would be fatherly if it weren’t so cold. 

The routine is familiar. Her rehearsed answer comes easily: “Today I analyzed the business decisions made in the company’s fourth quarter two years ago.” Speak too soon and she’s overeager, too late and she’s insolent; too quickly and she sounds immature, too slow and she’s reluctant. Her words must be metered, strong, and precise, no matter how her heart thumps. “Rather than Ermine Limited, I believe it would have been more cost effective to put our resources toward acquiring Coal Dust and Company.”

He leans forward, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh? You believe we made a mistake?”

“Yes, sir.” A Schnee shows no hesitation. “While Ermine does more business in Atlas, with each transaction being worth more overall, the Coal company has a large and dedicated base in Mantle and makes more sales in a day. Atlas buyers know that Ermine’s Dust can’t stand up to ours because we own the most resource-rich mines. All acquiring them did was give us a few more storefronts in Atlas, which we already have covered. If we bought out Coal instead, we could establish a footprint in Mantle, where we don’t have as many stores. That way, we could use the move to expand our customer base.”

“If we haven’t already bought Coal out, there has to be a reason.” Whitley tilts his head, eyes wide. “What if he didn’t want to sell?”

Father’s lips thin. “Whitley, don’t interrupt.”

“I was only saying –”

_“Whitley.”_

“It should be relatively simple to convince Coal to sell,” Weiss interjects, breathing an unnoticeable sigh of relief when Father’s eyes return to hers. “He doesn’t own a mine of his own, so we supply him with Dust already. If buying him outright doesn’t work, we could just point out that becoming part of the SDC would get him Dust at a discount rate.”

“Mm. And if that doesn’t convince him, all it would take is raising our prices…” Father trails off, tapping at his scroll. “I see. Very astute, Weiss.”

Whitley rolls his eyes. That cuts through the flash of pride and brings her back to herself. Right. The plan. “Also,” she adds, “I gave some thought to where I’d like to continue my education. I have decided that I should go to Beacon Academy.”

The air freezes. 

“May I be excused?” Whitley asks.

Father waves him away, not even looking. “Now, Weiss, you are too old for these childish games. I understand a young girl like yourself has certain… _delusions_ from time to time, but your place is with the Schnee Dust Company, not… running around with grimy animals and lowborn scum.”

“The SDC’s founder was a huntsman,” Weiss reminds him. “It was thanks to Grandfather Nicholas that the SDC was able to find and establish our first and most important mines, but they’re getting old. If our mines start to run dry, having a huntress in the family will be crucial to finding new ones.”

“Our reserves are excellent!”

“The _evaluations_ are fine, but evaluation and fact are two different things. And even our most positive evaluations point to the fact that we can expect our smaller mines to start going barren within the next ten years! We’re going to need people who can scout out new Dust veins.”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s what the _help_ is for.”

“Like you’ve ever called a huntsman reliable,” she shoots back. “Do you honestly think you could trust hired help to guard a Schnee expedition? Even if one got you there alive, you’d have to send a whole squadron to make sure the vein was any good, and then you’d have to trust him not to tell everyone where it is. I know how to estimate a potential mine’s yield, and as the SDC heiress, I’m expected to know how to defend myself anyway. It would just be more efficient for me to scout any prospects myself.”

“Winter put you up to this, didn’t she.” He rolls his eyes, unaware of the happy thrill the words send through her. “Isn’t it enough for her to enlist with brutes and betray the family name? At least _she_ was sensible enough to stay in Atlas. Childish fantasy or not, I simply cannot condone letting you take yourself off to an entire other continent!”

Does she dare say it? “Actually, it was my idea.” Her stomach swoops, either in fear or exhilaration. Is this what standing up to Father is like? Before he can do anything more than scowl, she continues. “I’ve chosen Beacon over Atlas for a couple of reasons. First of all, Atlas has no dedicated music class, while Beacon has a strong and proud choral tradition. My instructors have been wonderful, of course, but Ms. Aubade has admitted she has little left to teach me. I’m hoping that the teachers at Beacon will help me continue to progress.”

He pauses, considering. “Beacon’s chorus isn’t bad. It would make a good PR statement for the Schnee heir to be seen performing with them, at least…”

“The chorus mostly performs at charity events and state functions,” she helpfully adds, crossing her fingers behind her back. “It would spread my name outside Atlas, and probably drive up ticket sales, which would increase my concerts’ value to the company.”

“Hm.” He makes another note on his scroll, and she hastily stifles a whoop of excitement. It’s working! “And your second reason?”

She nods. “Right. As you know, the SDC’s main presence is in Atlas, and Winter already graduated from Atlas Academy. Getting into Atlas would probably be easier than Beacon, but I don’t want to do this the easy way. I don’t want to ride on our family’s success my whole life! Getting into Beacon would prove that I deserve to be a Schnee. I’m going to prove that I can contribute to the family on my own.”

The Scroll clacks gently against the table as he sets it down. He crosses his arms, slow, controlled, and every shred of confidence flees her immediately. “You’re too good for the rest of us, is that it?”

“No, sir,” she denies immediately, clapping a hand over her mouth when she realizes her mistake. 

Her father smiles faintly under heavy-lidded eyes. “I see,” he murmurs. “So you didn’t say that you think you can do better than your predecessors. You certainly never said you don’t want to be… mm, _sullied_ by our reputation.”

She shakes her head, eyes wide.

“Well, then.” His stare loses some of its sharpness, so she lets her arm drop. Her nails dig painfully into the base of her thumb. “If you’re so eager to prove yourself, why don’t you prove you deserve to take Beacon’s entrance exams to begin with? It would reflect poorly on the family for a Schnee to fail so publicly on such a simple examination, after all.”

She swallows. “Of course.”

❄︎ ~ ❄︎ ~ ❄︎

Whitley is waiting when she steps out into the hallway, leaving the Arma Gigas’s steaming armor behind her. His eyes widen when he sees her face, and she takes the handkerchief he shoves at her with minimal fumbling, despite the exhaustion weighing down her limbs.

“Come to cheer me on?” she ventures. 

He wrinkles his nose, dismissing the guess. “Just wanted to know how likely I am to be the only one left with Father. I was hoping you’d give up this silly huntress delusion before anyone got hurt, but I guess it’s lucky for you that you didn’t. If that cut scars, Father will throw you at Beacon more quickly than he disowned Winter.”

He isn’t _that_ vain. Is he?

❄︎ ~ ❄︎ ~ ❄︎

“And what have you been up to today?”

Weiss opens her mouth, but Father is looking at Whitley. Her brother shoots her a glance. “I went over last quarter’s financial reports,” he obligingly answers. “I think whoever did the accounting did their math wrong, however. We should have seen about a thousand more lien from the transportation department.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just make a mistake?”

“I asked your brother, Weiss. Don’t interrupt.”

She raises a hand to her face, Whitley’s response lost under the sudden ringing in her ears. “May I be excused?” she asks at the next break in conversation. Father waves her off without a glance, and she curtsies, walking til she’s out of sight and then breaking into a run.

The cut Winter left in the table leg was a thin gash, nearly vertical. It’s all she can see in her bedroom mirror. She can _only_ see it in her bedroom mirror. That table is gone. It was imperfect. It was replaced.

No. She straightens her shoulders, determination igniting in her gaze. What she sees in the mirror is a _future huntress._ She isn’t some object to be discarded based on- on _cosmetic differences._

She is a Schnee. And Schnees are _perfect._


End file.
